


The North Remembers

by ebres



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, jailbreak
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-09 03:02:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11660265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebres/pseuds/ebres
Summary: “Say I don’t believe you. Tell me why Jamie Lannister is freeing a traitor to the crown. Why should I trust you?”“Let’s just say, Lady Greyjoy, that you have some friends in very high places. And from where I’m standing, you don’t have any other choice if you want to live.”





	The North Remembers

**Author's Note:**

> So I think we were all a little shaken at last week's episode (or a lot in my case) and this is honestly... Well, I just wanted to put this out there before tonight's episode crushes what little hope I have left.

                The Lannister dungeons stank like rot and piss.

                She’d been here nine days, maybe more. It is hard to keep track. They gave her water, a guard tossing a skin into her cell every other day or so, water she rationed just in case, but no food. A person can last three weeks without food, she wasn’t even a half that, she assumed, and was already starting to feel it. The gnawing pain of hunger. The loss of focus and concentration. If she was attacked now she would be worse than useless, weak and uncoordinated.

                She’d be worse than –

                One of the empty water skins crumpled in her hands. He’d just left her there, saved his own hide and –

                What hurt worse was that, just for a moment, she actually thought he changed. Worse than the last time, when he sided with that bastard instead of her. He’d been the prisoner that time and she had her freedom. For a brief, stupid, moment she’d actually thought he’d step up. That he wasn’t that coward anymore.

                She’d been wrong. Again.

                The skin didn’t get two yards when she threw it and she felt pain of it right up to her shoulder. How much longer until she couldn’t even manage that? A couple days? More? How much longer would they keep her here or was _Queen Cersei_ planning on starving her death down in the cells?

                She’d been expecting a grand, public execution the day Euron brought her here. The death of the Ironborn traitor to the crown, stir up some support for her campaign against Daenerys.

                Would… Would Daenerys come for her? Come rescue her allies held hostage in the capital? Would her advisers caution against it? Say it’s not worth the risk? Would she even care, now that the iron fleet sat burnt and broken at the bottom of the Sea of Dorne, her men with it?

                She’d come for Ellaria, surely. The Dornish army was still alive, still able to fight for her cause.

                “Leave us.” She didn’t jump, forced herself not to. She hadn’t even heard someone come into the dungeons, let alone stand before her cell unnoticed. His boots should’ve made some noise on the stones, shouldn’t they? It was hard to tell anymore.

                “My Lord?”

                “I said, leave us. I wish to speak with the prisoner. Alone.” Her eyes trailed up the figure, his boots, his chain mail, his gold and red surcoat, and stopped dead before reaching anywhere near his face.

                “But my Lord, the queen ordered –”

                “If you’d like, you can go to interrupt the queen at her small council meeting and ask her what I am or am not allowed to do with a prisoner. I’m sure she won’t be too cross. Best to leave your armor on, just to be safe.” His right hand was made of gold, dull gold that glinted in the dim light, blackened in the creases and at the cracks.

                “I – As you say my Lord. We’ll leave you be.”

                Once the boot steps of her round-the-clock guard faded away, she finally forced her eyes up to look at his face. There were lions carved into his pauldrons, his blond hair was dark and cropped short, and he was looking at her like he was trying to decide what to do next.

                This was Tyrion’s mysterious elder brother.

                Jamie Lannister.

                “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Kingslayer?” Every man, woman, and child knew the story of Jamie Lannister, though Tyrion told the tale a little differently than most. He’d stepped forward, resting his good hand on the crossbars of the door, and in the dim twilight leaking through the high, barred window she could see that his eyes were the same green as his sister’s. “Has the queen finally,” she paused to clear her throat, voice raspy with disuse. “Decided that I’ve overstayed my welcome?”

                A nighttime execution. Maybe they were going to burn her. She swallowed and tried not to let anything show on her face.

                Jamie stared her for a long moment, long enough she had to drop his gaze, swallowing down the bile that came with hunger and looking weak. “The queen didn’t send me,” he said finally and she heard a key turn in the lock. Come to finish me off yourself then, she thought. On a good day she’d be a match for him but today… Then he said something that made her head reel for a reason all too different from the hunger. “At least… Not that queen.”

                Then his hand was around her arm, pulling her to her feet, holding her steady as a wave of vertigo crashed over her. Was this what seasickness felt like? Nauseated and spinning, the world tilted, unable to make sense of your surroundings.

                Jamie _Lannister_ freeing her from prison on Queen Daenerys’s orders? Maybe she was dying and this was the Drowned God playing tricks on her mind to ease her passing. She’d have thought he’d pick a less nonsensical hallucination. Or –

                Or this was a trap.

                She used what little energy she had left to wrench her arm free of his grasp; the momentum of it caused her to stumble into the wall beside the door, rough stonework cutting into her palms as she braced against it to glare at him.

                “Say I don’t believe you. Tell me why Jamie Lannister is freeing a traitor to the crown.” Talking was exhausting, her breath coming in short, sharp pants that stung through her chest and throat. “Why should I trust you?”

                “Let’s just say, Lady Greyjoy, that you have some friends in very high places.” It wasn’t good enough, shouldn’t be good enough, not even to her hunger addled brain that couldn’t make sense of the situation. He took a step towards her, with the caution one might approach injured animal. “Where I’m standing, you don’t have any other choice if you want to live.”

                _I’m dead either way._

\---

                Yara knew little of their flight through the castle.

                She knew that Jamie had pulled her into a deep red cloak, could smell the stench of damp wool all around her face. Knew they’d left through a servant’s entrance. That he never let go of her arm, even when she’d nearly plunged down a set of stairs or when they were almost questioned by an off-duty guardsman heading back to his chambers. That the cool dusk air had never tasted sweeter.

                She didn’t remember mounting the horse, wasn’t even sure how her uncoordinated hands could even managed the task, or when he had swung himself up behind her, his golden hand digging into her waist to keep her seated as they raced through the city streets.

                Night had fallen, properly fallen with the sky fading from gold to purple to black, by the time they slowed. They were beyond even the outskirts of King’s Landing, maybe, when she looked back she could barely see the Red Tower against the pitch black sky but… No matter how many times she blinked, shook her head, tried to clear the fall but its own over her mind, she couldn’t remember where the sun had _set_.

                She had no idea if they were actually heading south to Dragonstone. Her eyes slipped shut, all energy draining out of her, barely felt Jamie try to jerk her awake. “You need to eat something,” he was saying, voice oddly muffled in her ears. “Before you sleep. We can’t stop, you to stay awake just a bit longer.”

                Did he sound worried?

                Something was pressed into her hands and she blearily forced her eyes open. A crust of bread, a dark grain and studded with nuts, was curled and her numb fingers. “Try to eat. Slowly.”

                “What if I can’t.” Her throat was so dry she was surprised she could even speak.

                “You can. You’re going to survive.” The horse slowed to a walk and at the first bump on the road she was able to keep the bread from slipping from her hands.

                Drowned God damn her if she was going to let Cersei Lannister beat her.

                She didn’t taste the first small few bites, the ones she forced down her throat. Then, tired as she was, her stomach seem to take the hint and become ravenous again. In a few moments she was fumbling with the reins while he broke off a new piece for her.

                “When we meet with my contact,” he said as he took a drink from a skin and passed it to her. Wine, good sweet wine that went to her head after a few mouthfuls. Her eyes slipped shut again and the wineskin was plucked from her hands. He was still talking, she could feel the words rumbled through his chest. “She’ll have meat, to get your strength back.”

                “She? Who are meeting?” She was so tired she couldn’t even be sure she’d spoken aloud. He was meeting with a woman? That… That didn’t make sense. The queen wouldn’t have come by herself, wouldn’t have contacted the Kingslayer who killed her father, wouldn’t have sent Missandei without her, and Olenna… Olenna wouldn’t lift a finger to help her. If it wasn’t Tyrion arranging with his brother then…

                Just a short nap, then she’d be able to figure this out.

\---

                _Euron’s bloody axe at her throat. Dying, mutilated men at her feet. The fleet burning all around them._

_Theon’s eyes right before he bolted off the ship._

                Yara jolted awake.

                The sun was in the sky, damn it all. She'd wanted to sleep maybe an hour or two and then continue questioning him, not the whole bloody night. “How long was I asleep?”

                “Through the night, it’s almost midday.” He sounded tired, if they hadn’t stopped than he hadn’t slept. She looked down, there is a tension around her calves and she discovered that he’d tied her to the horse to keep her from falling off. How had she not woken when that had happened? She pulled at the knots, the leather strapping coming away with a few well-placed tugs. She was stronger, her hands obeying her brain without last night’s delay.

                “We should make camp,” she said and she though he might have laughed. “The horse needs to rest, so do you.”

                “We stopped for a couple house last night, we can’t afford any other stops if we’re going to make it in time. Honor has a few more miles in him and we’ve got to make it out of the city’s range. Cersei will have discovered you missing by now and with any luck she’ll search the road south to Dragonstone or the ports but I’d like to be safe.”

                “We’re not going to Dragonstone?” She looked back at the sky, the sun was to their right. If it wasn’t yet midday then they were riding north, along the Kings road. “Why are we going north?”

                “Because they’ll expect you to go south. You can’t go back to the islands with your uncle still in power, there’s no reason he or my sister will think you’d head this way.”

                “Ironborn aren’t welcome in the North,” she hissed, thinking of the corpses left in Moat Cailin, rotting flayed Ironmen. “And all my allies are to the south, at Dragonstone.”

                “Are they?” And that was all he’d say on the matter, reining up his horse, Honor, and nudging him into a trot. He didn’t try to hold onto her this time leaving his gold hand by his side, and she fisted both hands in his horse’s dark mane instead. But his silence gave her time to think.

                Whatever Jamie Lannister said, she _didn’t_ have allies in the North. Which could only mean that the Dragon Queen had captured a northern outpost. Or maybe they wold be taking her to White Harbour and seeing her safely on the next ship bound for Dragonstone.

                Or, this was an elaborate rap set by Cersei.

                Either way, she was no good to herself or her allies half-staved and weak. She needed to play along until she’d regained her strength. _What is dead may never die but rises again harder and stronger_. She had to be strong, she was the queen on the Salt Throne, she had to be a kraken, rising again from the sea. Even if it meant working with Jamie Lannister and his mysterious contact.

                _We do not sow_.

                It was after noon when Honor took a sharp turn off the Kingsroad, sparse brush crunching and snapping beneath his hooves. Jamie had to duck beneath a few low-hanging branches when they reached the thin treeline. The trees were few enough that Honor had no trouble maneuvering through them but close enough together there would be no chance of sending a charging cavalry in after them. Almost against her will, Yara found her shoulders loosening, relaxing for the first time. A single person on foot could out pace a rider in these woods. If it came to it, perhaps her shaking legs could carry her to a half decent hiding spot.

                “Who goes there?” A woman’s voice, one that started Honor but not Jamie. In fact, she felt his quiet chuckle against her back. She couldn’t see anyone, hidden amongst the foliage.

                “It’s just me, Brienne.” _Brienne_ , not a name she recognised. Then they rounded a small copse into a shady clearing and Yara had to wonder how she _hadn’t_ seen this woman through the trees. She was facing them, broadsword held at the ready, no armour to glint in the sunlight. But she must have been at least six feet tall, would dwarf Yara once they were standing on even ground, possibly dwarf even Jamie. She was Andal, blonde and square-jawed.

                Not one of Daenerys’s Essosi mercenaries. Was she hiring from Westeros too?

                “You’re late,” the knight, Brienne, could women even be knights on the mainland?, spat out as she sheathed her sword and approached them to take Honor’s reins.

                “Oh do forgive me, Lady Tarth,” Brienne scowled down at him as Jamie swung onto the ground, she _was_ taller than he was. “But it’s a lot slower to ride with an extra person on your horse. Even if that person’s a half staved slip of a thing out of my sister’s dungeons.”

                Brienne huffed and clapped him on the shoulder, her hand entirely covered the golden lion. Then, to Yara’s great surprise, she quirked an almost smile that was just shy of fond. “It’s good to see you, Jamie.”

                “Good to see you too, wench.” Brienne’s eyes slipped off Jamie, up to where Yara was still in the saddle, her expression going distinctly stony.

                “Lady Greyjoy, I presume.” She sounded like she’d rather be anywhere but here, following orders only. Yara could respect that, she could respect a solider loyal to their commander. She waved Brienne’s hands off when she went to help her from the horse and swung around in the saddle to dismount, eager to stretch her legs. It was cold enough that the impact of her feet on the ground sent sharp aches all the way up into her knees and she grabbed a stirrup to keep herself from stumbling,

                “Steady on there, sea legs.” At least she was better enough to punch Jamie in the gut. It got a laugh from Brienne and was almost worth the pain in her elbow for the sight of him doubling over. “Okay,” Jamie grunted, all breath knocked out of him, as he tried to stand straight. “I probably deserved that. But I did just save your life you know.”

                “I assume that’s why she didn’t aim lower.”

                Making camp with Brienne was easier than she’d expected. While the knight clearly hated the Ironborn there was no hostility to her as she settled to share the turkey she’d snared while waiting for Jamie. She even made him stay for some food, to give both him and the horse a rest. And, though she hadn’t been able to bully him into getting any semblance of sleep, it was refreshing to know there was a woman Jamie Lannister let boss him around.

                “Cersei’s probably already questioning my absence, if I’m to make it look like I’m ‘aiding the search effort’,” he said with a roll of his eyes and a smirk around the wing he’d claimed for himself. “I need to leave as soon as possible.”

                Jamie had forced a leg and another hunk of bread into Yara’s hands the minute they’d sat down to eat, grease dripped between her fingers and her stomach was starting to rebel against the sudden intake of food but Jamie would glare at her every time she went to set anything down and fresh roasted bird tasted just too damn _good_ for her to stop and think too hard about it. There was a canteen of ale leaning against her book that tasted like piss but they’d finished Jamie’s wine on the ride here and it was better than nothing. At least, if she was eating, she wasn’t expected to talk. It allowed her to sit back against her fallen log, to watch, listen, and observe.

                Jamie was different, different from what she’d seen at court in King’s Landing, different than he was in Tyrion’s drunken stories. He wasn’t the Kingslayer or Cersei’s lackey or lover, wasn’t even the confident, kind, older brother. He seemed younger, less grim, he laughed, went to get firewood even when Brienne insisted she’d do it. What kind of woman was able to steal Jamie Lannister right from under his sister’s nose?

                “I supposed I owe you a favour now,” Brienne said, as Jamie swung himself up into the saddle. She was holding onto the reins, he was looking at her like he never wanted to leave.

                “I suppose you do.” How did Daenerys get lucky enough to find a mercenary who could call in a personal favour with a Lannister? “I’ll have to think on that. Or maybe this should call us even. In the meantime, tell your lady…” He paused, took the reins from Brienne’s hands, and started turning Honor back towards the road. “That when it comes down to it, my sword will be hers.”


End file.
